


Rowing in Eden

by Silvestria



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Fanservice, Kissing, Rain, Romantic Storm, Rowing, Wet Shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after Sybil's ball Matthew takes Mary rowing on the Serpentine. Involves rain snogging and Matthew with his shirt sleeves rolled up. Blatant and irrelevant fanservice. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rowing in Eden

" _Wild nights! Wild nights!_  
 _Were I with thee,_  
 _Wild nights should be_  
 _Our luxury!_

 _Futile the winds_   
_To a heart in port,_   
_Done with the compass,_   
_Done with the chart._

 _Rowing in Eden!_  
 _Ah! the sea!_  
 _Might I but moor_  
 _To-night in thee!"_  
Emily Dickinson

London baked. It had not rained in two weeks. Dust curled up from the hard streets, and servants on errands shaded their eyes with their hands from the glare of the blinding sun reflected off the white buildings. The grass in the gardens in Mayfair was parched and withered and sweating gardeners had a full-time job keeping the flowerbeds watered.

The season limped exhaustedly towards its close and at this moment, the sun already beaming down in a flawlessly blue sky, the Crawley family were eating a deservedly late breakfast the night after Sybil's coming out ball.

Tired they might be but everybody (apart from perhaps Edith, and nobody minded her anyway even if she had danced with a marquess and two viscounts) was in a joyous mood. Sybil had done very well and her parents had received many compliments about her prettiness, liveliness, and charm. And then there were Matthew and Mary, of course. After their behaviour the previous evening, who could doubt the ending? The smiles round the breakfast table were decidedly smug.

They had almost finished when Matthew was announced. It was his last day in London and he had promised to spend it with them. They had not expected him so early but then again, they were late that morning and considering his and Mary's apparent relationship, it was not to be wondered at that he should have appeared so readily.

After the usual greetings took place and while he was still hovering in the doorway, not sure whether to sit next to Robert or draw up a chair where he would rather be, next to to Mary, the earl smiled broadly and said, "Why don't you take Mary to Hyde Park for a walk today? You can see she's wilting indoors here! We all are."

Mary sat crumbling the remains of her roll. She had looked up when he had entered, blushed, and smiled at him with more warmth than he had received off her in a long time, but otherwise behaved rather more quietly than normal. After all, how did one behave towards a man to whom everyone considered one was engaged – including, most probably, the man himself? And yet no agreement had been made. All the same, she was reluctant to do anything to break this tentative peace. She rather liked having everybody think she was engaged to Matthew, whether she was or not.

Robert's suggestion was not subtle, but it did not need to be. Matthew looked absolutely delighted at it and the opportunity to spend more time alone with Mary. Apart from the ball, he had hardly seen her at all over the last few weeks that she had been in London. Things were so up in the air between them, or had been until the previous night at least. He would welcome a chance to talk to her, properly talk to her.

"I'd like that very much, Mary, if you would," he said, looking appealingly at her. "We could walk by the Serpentine. It will be cooler nearer the water..."

She looked up at him and suddenly flashed him a smile, devastating in its brilliance. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Yes, I'd like that," she replied. "I'll get ready now!" And she stood up immediately from the table.

Matthew watched her go with a slightly open mouth.

* * *

Outside, they could only proceed slowly. The heat was even more oppressive than it had been the previous day. The pavement felt harder under their feet than ever before and walking felt like moving through treacle. Matthew, perspiring gently in his linen suit and hat could not understand how Mary could look so fresh and pristine besides him. He was quite sure that his face must be beet red and shiny.

Despite her keenness to come with him, and the appreciative smile she gave him as they left the house, the conversation between them was stilted.

"I think it is getting even hotter," said Mary.

"Yes," replied Matthew, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it as they walked. Mary expanded her parasol, a flimsy, white thing that only added to the glare of the street.

"I suppose you shall be glad to return to the countryside tomorrow. It will probably be cooler there."

Matthew looked at her sideways but her face was concealed by the parasol. "In some ways I will be, yes."

Breathing was hard in this damp, pressing heat. It was hard to speak at length and so Mary did not reply, disappointing her companion of the opportunity to introduce the subject closest to his heart.

Off the streets and in the park it was a little cooler. The trees offered some shade and the green was more restful on the eyes than the white of the houses. Mary took Matthew's arm and they strode together some time in near silence, only speaking occasionally to comment on the scenes they were passing or London in general. Mary's reluctance to say anything of importance infected Matthew as well, however, and neither wished to break the uneasy truce or move out of their limbo. Although nothing had been said, for these peaceful moments they could each pretend that there was nothing that needed to be said. They could pretend that their relationship was whatever they privately and individually wished it to be. Therefore they strolled at random, her hand tucked tightly into his arm, their heads bent close together and each ignoring the prickle of unease and awareness that they both felt.

Presently they burst out onto the deep blue of the Serpentine, dotted with little boats. There were more people here by or on the water than elsewhere in the park, and even a little breeze and freshness in the air. They walked down to the edge of the lake and paused, taking in the scene before them.

Eventually Matthew spoke for the sake of breaking the silence which was making him feel more restless than he had any right to feel, out alone with his very dear Mary the day after Sybil's ball.

"We could go on the water, if you liked," he suggested, his voice slightly breathless in the heat, glancing at her profile.

Her cheeks were a little pinker than usual when she turned towards him. "Can you row?" she asked in some surprise.

He raised his eyebrows. "Three years in Oxford, Mary."

"Last night the foxtrot and today rowing. I wonder how many other hidden skills you possess!"

She met his eyes and though she had wanted to look away immediately she found she was unable to.

"I hope I have an opportunity to enlighten you." She did not respond with a platitude, as any other almost-fiancée would have done, only her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. He held her gaze as long as he could bear until the tension between them became unendurable and he swallowed and looked quickly in the direction of the boat hire. "Shall we then?"

Again they exchanged glances making any reply on her part unnecessary and he led the way. Mary hesitated a moment before following him. Perhaps it would be better on the water, but she was feeling deeply uncomfortable and not just from the weather conditions. She had been too aware of him beside her; the rise and fall of his chest, his warmth against her side as they walked, the way one piece of hair was stuck to his forehead... A heaviness lay between them and she was too lethargic to attempt to dispel it.

Matthew paid for the hire of the boat while she waited and then handed her in. The small boat rocked as she stepped in and she avoided meeting his eyes. The touch of his hand through her lace glove was enough.

"All right?" he asked briefly as she settled herself on the forward facing bench and raised her parasol again.

"Yes." She smiled tightly. "Thank you."

He sat down, picked up the oars and began to manoeuvre them out into the main part of the lake. Mary watched him curiously, taking in the way his jacket stretched over his shoulders with every pull on the oars and the look of dogged concentration on his increasingly shiny face.

"You must be very hot," she observed suddenly after a few minutes. "You should take off your jacket. I really can't see why you keep it on."

He looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. "It is warm work."

He was a little out of breath and Mary's eyes ran all over him as he shrugged out of his jacket and then, for good measure, undid the buttons on his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. Her eyes dipped down to his bare arms, stronger than she might have imagined them, the muscle moving under the skin as he stretched and released with every stroke, the faint fair hairs almost invisible. The distance between them in the little boat seemed insurmountable to her even though her thin, white dress almost brushed against his knees opposite her. She gripped the handle of the parasol more tightly in an effort to steady her slight trembling.

Matthew perceived her attention and tried not to look at her for fear of what he might do if he were to meet her eyes again. His skin burned under the combined efforts of the sun and her dark gaze. He kept his eyes fixed slightly to the side, staring at the serene, gently rocking blue of the lake until spots appeared in his vision.

Then he could not continue silent any longer in this way and pulled the oars out of the water with a splosh.

"Mary!" he cried suddenly, desperately, as an unexpected gust of wind moved across the waters and caused them to shiver together. She looked up and met his eyes with alarm and a blush.

"Last night, at Sybil's ball, what happened-"

"Matthew, nothing's-"

"Can't you-"

"I said I would give you an answer when I return to Downton."

"I don't understand."

"I need to be sure." She twisted her head away as if in pain.

"Sure about  _what_? What are you waiting for? Mary, I want to know!"

He leaned forwards, his arms lying along the sides of the boat, pinning her in. Her breath came in short gasps as she leaned back away from the intensity of his expression.

"Matthew, I-"

She could not have told him, was no more able to enlighten him then as she had been on any day since he had proposed to her. At that moment, however, the sky changed. Dark clouds massing in the east covered the sun and a gloom fell suddenly over the park. The waters turned to dark grey and the grass seemed to glow with a more intense green. Every colour, even the white of Mary's dress and parasol, seemed heightened. Even the birdsong seemed suddenly hushed. She broke off and both of them looked up at the sky.

For a moment they were suspended together, unmoving apart from the natural rocking of the boat, hardly breathing in anticipation. Then a single, heavy drop of rain felt between them staining the light wood of the bottom of the boat. They were hardly able to react to this before more began to fall, single drops, landing with loud smacking noises on the boat, on Mary's parasol, on Matthew's bare arms, bouncing off the water, speeding up until it was a proper deluge. On the shore people began running for shelter and somewhere on the lake, a woman shrieked in panic.

Matthew's determination had taken them further out into the middle than he had been aware and though the rain served as a catalyst for motion, they had further to return than most other boats. The wood of the oars clunked against the side of the boat as Matthew turned it around and Mary peered into the dark, blinding rain to guide him back to shore. Soaked, her parasol afforded no protection, within seconds her dress was clinging to her, and water collected in the rim of Matthew's hat before plunging a warm stream onto his knees or down the back of his neck depending on which way he bent as he pulled on the oars, moving through the rain-speckled water as quickly as possible.

By the time they reached the shore at the nearest point the park was almost deserted and eerily quiet apart from the steady sound of the rain. Matthew leapt from the boat, his jacket over one arm, and offered Mary a hot, slippery hand to help her out, before quickly tying it up. As he did so, Mary looked around them. They had moored far from the boat house they had set off from and there was no nearby shelter. Matthew joined her, gave a swift glance around them both and then tugged her hand. "Come!"

He pulled her across the path, up a little slope and under a large chestnut tree that offered some measure of relief from the worst of the downpour.

"We can stay here a moment until the worst passes," he said, breathing heavily from the combined exertion of rowing and running.

She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, shivering. The brim of her hat drooped over her bedraggled hair, her dress had moulded itself to her body, and her eyelashes glittered with droplets of water. Matthew swallowed, unable to take his eyes off her, his gaze roaming uncontrollably over her.

Heat began to pool within her as she felt the weight of his desire fall on her, while her own eyes took in the way his shirt clung to his upper arms and shoulders and the way she could see the direction of every riverlet of water dripping from his hair, running down his neck and disappearing under his sodden collar.

"Matthew-" Her voice came out fainter than usual, and she was unable to continue as another shudder passed through her.

Matthew raised his eyes, darker and deeper than they normally were, and blinked in realisation. "You're cold."

Awkwardly, he draped his jacket round her shoulders. It was also wet but thicker than their other clothing and so was of some use. He adjusted it fondly around her, relishing the opportunity to be so close to her and to touch her, however delicately. She raised her hands to pull it more tightly round her but somehow ended up covering his hands instead, not entirely accidentally.

Her hands were cold and small over his and their drenched lace covering did nothing to hinder the bolt of heat that shot through them both at the contact. He peered under her hat into her dark, anxious eyes and saw his longing mirrored in them.

"Mary..." he whispered, his gaze flickering down to her lips. There was a single drop of water sitting on her bottom lip, a perfect glassy sphere. She was trembling in front of him, her breathing shallow and rapid, and her tongue poked briefly out to lick away that drop. Pure needed shot through Matthew, reciprocated in the lowering of her own eyes, and he kissed her.

This was nothing like the one other kiss they had shared, slow and sure but tentative, the night of the count. There had been nothing then of the raw desperation that gripped them both now. He pulled his hands away from hers to clasp her waist, pulling her flush against him and trapping her arms against his chest. She gasped as he kissed her and responded with breathless need, her fingers clasping and releasing their hold on his jacket.

Matthew was overwhelmed by her reaction and wrapped his arms more tightly round her underneath the coat. Her dress was thin and wet and his hands burned her, contrasting with the cold dampness of the material that he clutched at and rucked. The heat of his mouth, the warmth of the rain that nevertheless chilled as soon as it touched skin, the sound of the drops hitting the leaves above them, all merged into pure sensation and Mary was carried away by it. She felt completely enclosed by him; everything was Matthew, there was nobody, nothing else in her imagination; he dominated her mind, heart, and soul. If this was punishment for her indecision then it was the sweetest punishment imaginable.

Matthew poured out every ounce of his frustration at her as much as his love, one of his hands edging its way up her back to cup the back of her neck as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He could not have imagined kissing her so sweetly, so passionately at all, let alone like this with promises only half made and in a public park in the rain, yet after the previous tension it seemed inevitable. The force of his passion pushed them physically back in his attempt to get ever closer to her, to mark her, dominate her, and she stumbled as his leg pressed against her and her back hit the tree under which they were sheltering.

Mary's passivity did not last in the face of such an onslaught. Caught between the hard, scraping bark of the tree and the soft firmness of Matthew, his heat tangible even through his damp shirt and waistcoat, she pulled her hands out from where they were trapped and grasped at his shoulders, her hands sliding on the wet cotton that was plastered to his skin in an attempt to redress the balance between them. Her touch inflamed him even more and he pulled his arm from her waist to press her even more closely against the tree, cupping her face with his hand, his thumb slipping on her wet cheek, as he continued to kiss her with deep, lingering, exploratory kisses, the hot wetness of their mouths mingling with the coldness of the rain.

She wrapped her arms round his neck in response, her fingers smoothing down the hair that was plastered against his skin. Her heart was beating almost too hard to bear, her head swam, she felt utterly intoxicated, and – she saw stars: a flash of gold illuminated her vision even with her eyes closed. Shocked, she pulled away, bumping her head against the tree, and her eyes snapped open and met Matthew's. He had seen the same thing she had. They stared at each other in mutual incomprehension and panic over what they had been doing, their chests heaving together, still clasped tightly in each other's arms.

Then from out of the ever darkening sky came the low and ominous rumble of thunder. Matthew tore his eyes away from Mary's to look up, the steady rain hitting his face. She raised one tentative hand to brush away at some of the water on his cheek and his eyes snapped back to hers, shivering at her light touch. He swallowed. "Mary-" His voice shook. "Mary, darling, we can't stay here!"

Still, her hand compulsively brushed over his cheek; she did not seem able to stop, just as she was unable to speak to him, tell him what he needed to hear. Yes or no? No or yes? Stop, wait, maybe?

There was another flash of lightening, burning Matthew's hair a deeper gold than it already was. He let out a sigh and pulled away from her, retaining only one of her hands in a firm grip as the thunder exploded almost directly above them. He met her eyes one last time in a searing gaze before pulling her after him. "Run!"

They ran.


End file.
